


Six Kinds of Love Extras!

by Frilly_Axolotl



Series: Six Kinds of Love AU [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Sexual Slavery, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13195356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frilly_Axolotl/pseuds/Frilly_Axolotl
Summary: A collection of extra chapters and one-shots from my Six Kinds of Love fic! Will contain a mix of light and dark chapters, but each chapter will be appropriately tagged at the start. Chosen not to use archive warnings, but there WILL be content warnings. Again, to be tagged as per individual chapter.Updates whenever I am inspired :P





	1. How Could I Not Love You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit seduces Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings. This IS pure smut, though. Sweet and fluffy stuff.
> 
> Please note that I also updated Six Kinds of Love the same day I uploaded this, so remember to go check out the new chapter!

**Chris**

“Christophe Giacometti.”

Chris glances up at the sound of Phichit’s voice. The door is open, so he didn’t hear the younger man come in, but Phichit kicks it shut behind him with a little too much gusto. Snowflake twitches at the noise, glaring reproachfully as she slinks from the windowsill and into the bathroom where she’ll likely curl up in the sink.

Phichit’s cheeks are a dusky pink colour, and he looks a little out of breath. Wearing only a bathrobe, hair still slightly damp, it seems kind of like he ran here after taking an unusually hot shower. Chris folds the corner of his book down.

Before he can say a word, Phichit drops the robe.

“I’m here to seduce you.”

Chris swallows.

Bronze skin is flawless and smooth, and extra appealing right now for some reason that has nothing to do with his nakedness. Unlike Chris, who waxes and shaves almost every inch of his body, Phichit lets his hair grow. Though his chest is bare, dark curls rest just below his abdomen, and Chris finds that oddly sexy at this particular moment. Catching him staring, Phichit’s blush darkens.

He is beautiful. Chris has never seen him naked like this before. Phichit has a tendency to be surprisingly shy about his body. On a hot summer day, he might wear a tank top and shorts, but Chris has never been privy to _this_. To the gentle curve of his narrow hips and the bones there prominent and perfect, the apex of his slim thighs where his member hangs loose and limp, but definitely not completely flaccid. Even on those nights when they share a bed, kissing and caressing, coming dangerously close to grinding, Phichit doesn’t change in front of him, and he always wears loose pyjamas which leave everything to the imagination.

And oh, how Chris likes to imagine.

They’ve been taking things slowly since that one drunken kiss on Christmas day. For four months, they’ve been careful and tentative, neither wanting to push the other too far. Phichit knows the details of Chris’ past almost as well as Viktor does. He is always mindful not to do anything that might trigger any painful memories for Chris, even though he also knows the details of his six-month relationship with Musumi from the club where he dances and understands that Chris is in a place to readily accept physical attention. Chris kind of appreciates his carefulness anyway.

As for Chris, he’s all too aware of Phichit’s limited experience. In fact, Phichit has _zero_ experience but with that of his own hand.

Yes, he has had many a thought and fantasy about naked Phichit. But he’d never have confessed that before now for fear of scaring his boyfriend away. These things can be intimidating, especially when Chris is so much bigger and more experienced than Phichit.

“So if you don’t want to be seduced, you better tell me right now so I can put this robe back on because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and I don’t even know if you’re ready for this, but I’m ready for this, so at least you know that if-”

A fond smile breaks over Chris’ face. He loves this man. He always has. It was different in the beginning. It was innocent, almost familial. He was a big brother taking care of a younger sibling. He doesn’t know when things changed between them, but the kiss was just confirmation.

“Phichit,” Chris says.

Rambling is Phichit’s way of conveying that he’s nervous. Chris can’t blame him. It probably took a lot of guts for him to do this. He puts his book on the bedside table and gets up as Phichit stops talking.

When he reaches the smaller man, he gently cups his blushing face with one hand, running his thumb lovingly across his cheek. Phichit unashamedly leans into the touch. Chris moves closer.

“Phichit Chulanont, you already seduced me when you kissed me at Christmas time.”

With that, he closes the distance between them and presses his lips oh so softly to Phichit’s own. Phichit melts. He always does. It never fails to be a generous boost for Chris’ ego.

They kiss. Slowly at first. Tenderly. Chris almost forgets Phichit is naked. Then the Thai man snakes his arms around Chris’ neck, standing up on his toes and pressing his entire body flush against Chris’ own. Chris feels him half-hard against his leg. He has to stop himself from diving in headfirst and grinding his thigh against Phichit; has to remind himself not to get too excited too quickly.

Phichit presses closer still until Chris realises he’s trying to guide them to the bed. He happily steps back until he feels the mattress against his legs. As he sits, Phichit slides into his lap, knees at either side of his thighs. Chris’ eyes flutter open for just a moment to see Phichit’s face flushed a deep red.

He’s gorgeous. Bold. Brave. He just walked in here, stripped, and made a move. Just like that.

How could he not love this man?

The smaller man moves his hips, like he’s searching for friction.

“Phichit,” Chris says between kisses. “Phichit, do you want me to touch you?”

“Mm,” Phichit mumbles in assent. “You too. I mean, I want to touch you too. Can I?”

“ _Mon petit chou_ , you can do whatever you want to me.”

He says it with a flirtatious growl, half meant as a way to tease Phichit. But the younger gives him a dazzling and dangerous smile, and leans in close to his ear.

“Then scoot back and take your cock out.”

Chris has never considered himself a prude, and it’s been many years since he was any kind of embarrassed by sex. But those words send a wave of heat crashing through him. It starts in his core, a burst of sharp pleasure shooting through his member and stirring it to life, travels up his torso until it’s in his face and he’s blushing just as hard as Phichit is. Unexpected, but oh so welcome.

He does as he’s told, stripping himself completely before inching back on the bed until he’s propped against the pillows. Phichit’s erection is still growing and his own is fast catching up.

Opening his legs, he watches Phichit crawl closer in a manner that can only be described as sensual. His dark skin, still a little damp, shining beautifully in the warm lighting, moves as he does. Up over his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine, to the dip where his back meets the swell of his ass. Chris is struck with the urge to lick and bite every inch of that flawless brown skin.

He refrains. He wants to see what Phichit will do next.

The Thai man kneels between his legs and places his hands gently on Chris’ thighs. He moves them up and down slowly, as if feeling the toned muscles there. It’s a sensation that’s both warm and hot. Chris sighs happily. Then Phichit trails his fingers higher, up over his hip bones, his defined abdominal muscles, brushing tantalizingly over his nipples, before his palms come to rest on his pectorals. That warmth spreads when Phichit leans forward to kiss the dip between his collar bones, then his throat, all the way up to his lips.

“Chris,” Phichit breaths against him. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you, darling.”

“Oh, you!” Phichit jokes.

“Me,” Chris grins. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

A devastating smirk spreads on Phichit’s face. He slides one hand over one of Chris’ own hands before guiding it confidently to the hardness between his legs, keening a little at the purposeful touch.

“Your wish is my command,” Chris says.

With his free hand, he reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a decent sized bottle of lube. Cherry flavoured. Phichit snorts at that, but the amusement dies and turns to surprise when Chris wraps a lubed hand around his hardness and strokes him.

Any desire Phichit had to touch Chris as well flies straight out of the window. Or at least is forgotten about. Not that it matters. As Chris moves his loosely clenched fist up and down his boyfriend, watching those dark eyes fall closed in pleasure, he feels himself getting more excited too. There’s a unique kind of satisfaction that comes with making a loved one feel good. He could sit here all day simply watching Phichit come apart under his ministrations.

Then again, he could do so much more.

For a while, he experiments with his movements. He alternates between twisting his wrist and changing up the pressure of his squeeze. Long strokes, short ones, quick ones, slow ones. All the while, he carefully teases the foreskin all the way back to expose the sensitive head. He uses the opalescent liquid beading at Phichit’s tip to lubricate his thumb as he brushes it over the area, and when Phichit gasps and jerks, throwing himself forward so his head is resting on Chris’ shoulder, he can’t help but smirk. He’s always been a fan of exploration and discovery.

He sweeps his thumb gently over the head of Phichit’s erection again, and it elicits the same response, this time followed by a breathy moan. Phichit’s arms wrap around his neck once again.

“Good, _mon amour_?”

“Y-Yeah.”

God, Chris can’t wait to show Phichit what he can do with his mouth. He can already see it. Little licks, kisses, soft sucks, and how they’ll all make Phichit positively whine with pleasure. And when he takes his boyfriend in to the root, Phichit will moan and thread his fingers through Chris’ hair and be so impressed, he won’t know what to say.

“ _Mon coeur_ ,” Chris whispers against Phichit’s flushed neck. He kisses the skin, licks it, nibbles at it gently, and never stops pumping his fist. “Darling, how do you want to do this?”

“Huh?” Phichit asks, leaning back slightly to look at him. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, he’s breathless and breath-taking.

Chris kisses those dusky lips.

“Do you want to be inside me?” he prompts in a low voice. “Or the other way around? Neither?”

“Oh,” Phichit mutters. “I…never really thought about it. I came in here with the aim that we’d have sex,” he adds with a giggle.

“There’s more than one way to have sex, _chéri_.”

“I’m smaller than you,” Phichit points out. “Doesn’t that mean you should be…on top?”

Chris takes his hand away from Phichit’s cock, wiping it on the sheets which will definitely need to be washed after tonight.

“Not necessarily, sweetheart,” he says with a smile. “I’m open to any which way you’d like it. This is your first time. It should be what you want.”

He lets his hands wander down to Phichit’s hips, his thumbs massaging little circles into his skin as he waits patiently for Phichit to figure out what it is he wants. Whether the Thai man is hesitant to say, or he genuinely doesn’t know, Chris doesn’t want to presume. He lets Phichit have the time to figure it out. Presses soft kisses to his exposed shoulders. The Thai man’s true innocence is showing now, and the last thing Chris wants to do is pressure him in any way.

“I guess…I pictured it with you…in me,” Phichit admits, looking so adorably embarrassed. Chris almost comments on it.

“But…?” he prompts. When Phichit bites his lip, he pushes on. “You’re nervous?”

Phichit nods, looking more ashamed than embarrassed now.

“Phichit, my love, there’s no reason for you to be embarrassed,” Chris comforts. “It’s normal to be nervous. You’ve never done this before, after all.”

“I-” The Thai man won’t meet his eyes. “It’s just…when you… Before- That is, with-”

Chris has no idea what he’s trying to say.

“You and Yuuri, with…Isaak.”

That name turns Chris’ already attentive focus into something rapt and sharp.

“I mean, I know you’d never _ever_ hurt me, but all I can think about is Isaak, for some reason, and how much he hurt you and Yuuri, and what if it hurts for some reason? What if I can’t relax? What if it just doesn’t feel good and we’re both disappointed? Like, what if I can’t get into it and it starts to hurt? I just-”

“Sweetheart,” Chris says, pressing his forehead against Phichit’s. “Calm down.”

He gives the Thai man the chance to relax again, running his palms up and down Phichit’s waist.

“Since you’re so nervous,” Chris says slowly, “maybe I should receive this time. You’ll see how good it feels when it’s done right.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing. What if I do something wrong and hurt you?”

Chris smiles. “ _Mon petit chou_ , you could never hurt me. I’ll talk you through every step. And if you want to try something out, you have my eager consent to do it. Everything will be fine.”

Phichit seems to consider it for a moment. “You’d really be okay with me being on top?”

“Darling,” Chris begins, a salacious grin on his face. “I can think of very few things that would be as pleasurable as having you inside me.”

His words make Phichit cover his flaming face with his hands as he emits a high whining noise. Chris laughs and gently tugs his boyfriend’s wrists so he can see the excited smile.

“I love you,” Phichit breathes, leaning forward to kiss him chastely on the lips.

Chris grins against Phichit’s mouth. “I love you too. Now, why don’t you continue what you came in here to do. I’ll guide you when we get there.”

Phichit nods, still looking uncertain, but it now seems to be entirely down to his inexperience.

The younger pushes Chris’ shoulders back and falls with him. Chris allows Phichit to manoeuvre him. Eagerly accepts when Phichit leans down to kiss him and slips his tongue into his mouth after carefully licking his lips to gain entry. Phichit’s weight between his legs is almost as delicious as _he_ is, and when he shifts slightly so he can tweak Chris’ nipples, a quiet squeak of pleasure escapes.

Deft fingers roll and pinch the little pink nubs on his chest. With each movement, tiny sparks of pleasure burst through him and straight to his hard cock. He lets small sighs out, feeling Phichit smile against his mouth. When Phichit pinches and rolls one nipple particularly hard, the sudden throaty moan surprises him. Phichit pulls back, eyes wide and lips glistening. Chris smiles up at him.

“Was that…good?” Phichit questions.

“More than good,” Chris encourages. “I want you to do it again.”

Phichit obliges, watching Chris’ reaction with interest this time. And Chris isn’t shy about showing Phichit exactly how good that feels, with a sharp gasp and a fist in the sheets. Phichit does it again. Pinches for longer this time, harder, then twists a little harder too. Chris moans, rolling his hips upward without meaning too, his body searching for friction.

His eyes have fallen closed, so he opens them again. Phichit looks positively devilish above him.

“You like your nipples being touched quite a bit, huh?”

Chris grins back. “Why don’t you find out just how much?”

Confidence turns Phichit into a force to be reckoned with. He rolls Chris’ nipples one final time, delighting in the whine that sits at the back of Chris’ throat, before diving down and locking his mouth over one. Chris has never done it before – never even tried it – but he thinks he might just cum there and then from this stimulation alone.

Relentless, Phichit sucks on his right nipple hard. Almost too hard. Almost for too long.

But oh, how good it feels. And when Phichit pops his mouth off, the once pink nub is now a flushed red colour, certainly swollen, and sensitive to Phichit’s breath. Chris shivers when Phichit blows on it, almost _howls_ when he takes it between his thumb and forefinger once more and squeezes. As he rolls and pinches the other nipple too, Chris positively writhes beneath him. He pants, mewls, moans, clenches the sheets in his fists, cants his hips because it’s so damn _good_ but he wants more.

The right nipple especially is throbbing, aching by the time Phichit lets up. At least with his fingers. Staring at it thoughtfully, the Thai man bears down again, this time licking at it carefully, almost reverently. Soothing away the faint hurt. Chris could mistake him for an expert as he swirls his tongue, licks in every direction, and finally places a delicate kiss on it as a parting gift.

Chris is breathless and hot when Phichit sits up and glances down between them. Precum oozes from Chris’ cock, just the same as Phichit. The pearly substance is smeared lightly over Phichit’s abdomen.

Now that’s a good look. Dark thoughts of Phichit beneath him, Chris’ cum splattered over his chest and stomach, fills his head. That’s for another time.

Phichit meets his eyes for a moment before reaching out and wrapping his fingers gently around Chris’ erection. Chris is sensitive, ready. He bites his lip at the contact.

“Phichit,” he sighs. “I’m close. I want you in me when we finish.”

Once upon a time, he might have been embarrassed about how turned on he can get from having his nipples played with. Not anymore. He embraces that, likes it quite a bit. And he’s with Phichit. Of course he’s close.

“That good?” Phichit asks with a proud smirk.

“Only with you, darling.”

Phichit giggles quietly, barely squeezing the base of Chris’ cock before letting it go. He reaches for the bottle of lube.

“You need more of that than you think you’ll need,” Chris instructs, planting his feet flat on the bed and spreading his legs wider still to give his boyfriend easier access. “Fingers first. It’s been a while for me.”

Squeezing a generous dollop of the clear gel onto his hand, Phichit spreads it out over his fingers before tossing the bottle aside and turning back to Chris. The strong scent of cherry wafts over. Phichit looks unsure again. Chris places his arms up above his head in an attempt to show Phichit he’s at ease. Phichit doesn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Chris murmurs. “We’ll just take it slow.”

“You’re sure I won’t hurt you?”

“Positive.” Chris smiles, eyes half-lidded, up at his sweet partner. “Do you still want to do this?”

“Duh.”

“Good,” Chris says. “Start by feeling the outside. Massage it with your fingers. Get used to it, and get _me_ used to it. Once I’m relaxed enough, you can put one in.”

Phichit nods.

Chris flinches slightly when the cool lube makes contact with his rim, then lets his eyes fall closed again. Phichit has a look of deep concentration on his face. They can upgrade to intense mid-sex looks later.

Rapidly warming fingers slide around the tight ring of muscle. Phichit experiments with the pressure, the direction of his movements. Presses a finger lightly against the muscle but doesn’t push in. It’s a pleasant, almost tickly sensation, and it shoots right to Chris’ cock. He sighs happily again. And slowly, the muscle relaxes. It really has been a long time since anyone else has touched him like this. His body needs to get used to it again.

“You can put a finger in now,” Chris says after a few moments, fluttering his eyes open to make sure Phichit is still doing okay. “Start slow, all right? In and out until you can comfortably get it in as deep as it’ll go. Move it around as much as you want. You won’t hurt me.”

He keeps his eyes open long enough to see Phichit nod.

There is only slight pressure as the tip of Phichit’s finger breaches his entrance. And the Thai man, hesitant as he seems, does as Chris instructed. He begins thrusting his finger slowly and shallowly, and the friction is minimal but holds the promise of something much better later.

Chris is pliant and relaxed, eager as he allows himself to get lost in the moment. He feels Phichit reach the second knuckle, and finally the third one when it’s pressed flush against his ass. Phichit pauses with the finger still deep inside him. Chris cracks an eye open.

“You’re so warm and soft inside,” Phichit says quietly, as if it’s a secret.

“How does it feel?”

“Weird,” he admits with a laugh.

Chris chuckles too as Phichit resumes thrusting his digit in and out, increasing the place slightly, and even starting to twist and curl his finger, pressing against Chris’ walls. When he pushes against the front wall and slides his finger in deep and quick, Chris yelps. His cock visibly twitches.

“I didn’t expect you to find that so fast,” Chris says with a grin.

Phichit rubs his finger experimentally against Chris’ prostate again. Chris groans.

“ _Mon petit chou,_ don’t tease me,” he whines. “Another finger.”

It never does take much encouragement for Phichit to become emboldened.

Much like with the first, Phichit slips another finger in, his thrusts shallow at first then deeper and faster. Now that he’s found the spot that makes Chris mewl like a kitten, he mercilessly teases it. Some of it doesn’t feel good. Not necessarily bad, just not particularly good. Chris allows him to test things out, and Phichit picks up on what feels best based on Chris’ reactions. His attentiveness itself is sexy, and seeing his expression sends another wave of heat rolling through Chris.

“Another finger, Phichit,” he gasps, turning breathless again when Phichit dares to start carefully stroking his cock with his free hand. “Mm- fuck.”

As Phichit pushes another finger in, he feels the stretch. It’s divine. Some of the lube has started to evaporate, giving Phichit’s fingers just a little more resistance. Just the way Chris likes it. And Phichit thrusts his digits, twists them, curls them; his movements are sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, sometimes rubbing up against his prostate. Coupled with his warm hand around Chris’ cock, Chris can’t keep himself from panting and moaning, his whole body hot.

“P-Phichit,” Chris gasps. A series of unintelligible sounds spill forth as he tries to verbally praise his boyfriend.

“Feel good?” Phichit asks. His voice sounds thick and breathy.

“Amazing- A-Amazing. Fuck, your fingers-”

A surprise moan comes out of Phichit, and Chris snaps his eyes open to see Phichit’s are screwed shut, teeth on his lower lip, and his cock is twitching between his legs, all red and shiny.

Chris isn’t going to get Phichit inside him. Not tonight. He can tell.

“Chris, you’re so hot- inside,” Phichit chokes. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Touch yourself, Phichit.”

There’s no argument. Phichit removes his hand from Chris and begins rapidly pumping his own shaft, gasping and groaning, his fingers never stopping inside of Chris.

“Y-You too,” Phichit bites out. “Touch yourself.”

Chris grasps himself and moves just as quickly as Phichit. A familiar coiling sensation is twisting in his core. Hot and slick, tantalising, just out of reach.

“Touch yourself more,” Phichit practically cries, thrusting his fingers against Chris’ prostate particularly hard. It makes Chris jerk. He brings his free hand down to tweak the nipple Phichit abused with his mouth. “W-Want you to feel good- all over.”

Little jolts. Like electricity. Warm hand on his cock. Fingers inside him. Phichit’s fingers. The friction, the heat, the sounds of Phichit whimpering and sighing above him. The coil in his belly gets tighter.

“Phichit-”

“Chris, I’m gonna-”

The coil snaps. He feels his own release spatter onto his stomach. His ass clenches rapidly around Phichit’s fingers, so deep inside him, rubbing against something that makes his legs feel like jelly. Not a moment later, Phichit cries out, and Chris feels cum spill over his hand and thighs. He tugs himself a further few times before wiping his hand on the sheets.

There’s a quiet moment in which Chris lies there, breathing heavily, his whole body pounding, and Phichit kneels between his legs, panting too. Then Phichit slides his fingers out of Chris, wipes those on the sheets too, and collapses into his chest.

Chris wraps his arms around the smaller man. Phichit settles down with his ear pressed against Chris’ solid heartbeat.

They lie there, spent. Just breathing. Phichit snuggles.

“ _Bien_?” Chris whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of Phichit’s head.

“ _Oui, très bien,_ ” Phichit replies. The smile is clear in his voice. “Didn’t quite go how we planned it,” he adds with an exhausted chuckle.

“First times are rarely perfect, my love.”

“I don’t know,” Phichit mumbles. “I thought it was pretty perfect.”

“ _You_ were perfect,” Chris says smoothly, tightening his arms and kissing Phichit’s head again.

“I try.” Chris imagines the wink that should come with that. “We’re definitely doing that again. Next time, I’m going to fuck you ‘til your legs are jelly.”

If Chris were drinking, he would choke on it. Instead, he bursts into laughter.

“Oh, Phichit, my legs are already jelly,” he swears. “But any time you want to do that again, you know where to find me.”

“I want jelly legs too, obviously, at some point.”

“Careful,” Chris teases. “I could make you regret that.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Well,” Phichit says seriously, leaning up to look at him. “First of all, you’ve got the body of a god, a nice ass, and apparently a pretty decent-sized di-”

Chris’ laughing drowns out the rest of Phichit’s words. Phichit grins playfully before glancing around at the bed.

“We’ll need to change the sheets before we go to sleep,” he notes.

“And take a shower. Come on, let’s get up now before we get too comfortable.”

The two of them roll out of the bed and strip it down, rolling the soiled sheets into the mattress cover and tossing the bundle by the door. Chris turns and sweeps Phichit up into his arms, earning him delicate peals of surprised laughter.

“Shouldn’t I be the one carrying _you_ princess-style?” Phichit asks as Chris moves them to the bathroom.

“You weren’t quick enough,” Chris says with a wink. Phichit circles his arms around Chris’ neck to allow him one hand free to turn on the shower. Snowflake glares from her bed in the sink. “Maybe next time, _mon amour._ ”

“ _Definitely_ next time.”

Chris lets Phichit down, and the pair of them step under the warm spray. At his request, Chris keeps still and lets Phichit clean the mess from his stomach, then turns and kneels to let the man massage shampoo into his hair.

Really, _how could he not love this man?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's gay.
> 
> Let me know what you thought :P I confess this is my first time writing real smut.


	2. Don't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Done from a Tumblr prompt "Chris & Phichit: don't let go hug".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that happened in the past which will come up again in the main story! No content warnings.

“Phichit.”

The Thai man is lying on the couch, curled up beneath his hamster blanket, bloodshot eyes transfixed on some old late-night TV show. This is what he does. Whenever he’s upset. Chris has seen it time and time again in the three years he’s been here. He’s never thought to ask why Phichit retreats to the sofa, but he’s sure he would tell him if he wanted to.

At his call, Phichit blinks and looks over to the doorway where Chris is standing. His eyes are damp and puffy. But he sits up, as if to be polite, and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his pyjama shirt. It’s different from the one he went to bed in, Chris notes.

“Oh, h-hi, Chris,” Phichit says. “What are you doing up?”

Chris takes careful, slow steps into the room. He doesn’t want to spook the younger man. Not after what happened earlier.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Chris admits. “I went to check on you, but you weren’t in your room.”

“Sorry,” Phichit whispers. “I was… I-I’m-”

“It’s all right,” Chris murmurs back, but Phichit is already getting up, clutching that blanket tight around his shoulders. “You can lie back down. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. What happened earlier was…scary.”

Phichit abruptly bursts into tears, startling Chris, and apparently Snowflake who darts out from under the sofa where Phichit’s head was moments ago. Chris doesn’t have to think twice before he’s closed the distance between himself and the Thai man. He pulls the other closer, snaking his arms around the smaller’s frame and squeezing gently. Phichit’s nose is pressed against his chest. He can feel snot and tears wetting his t-shirt, can feel the trembling that rattles Phichit’s very bones. A smaller hand fists itself in the material of his shirt.

He squeezes tighter.

“I d-don’t even know why I’m crying!” Phichit insists. “Otabek’s the one who-”

“Otabek was doing his job,” Chris interrupts, refusing to let Phichit go down the road of who has it worse. “He was protecting Viktor. And he protected  _you_.”

“Exactly!” Phichit cries. “I’m okay. I’m not even hurt. Viktor was-”

“It doesn’t matter about them,” Chris says. “Phichit, Vitaly pointed the gun at  _you_. He wouldn’t have cared if he hit you by accident, but he pointed the gun specifically at  _you_. He could have killed you. He  _would_ have killed you. You’re allowed to be scared.”

Phichit drops the blanket and returns Chris’ embrace with a deadly grip. Chris doesn’t move. He lets himself be the support and strength Phichit needs.

“Chris,” Phichit whispers, his voice muffled against Chris’ chest. “Don’t let me go.”

“ _Jamais_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. Little Cherub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor meets Chris (and Isaak) for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A darker chapter for sure, sprinkled with some light stuff!
> 
> WARNINGS: Isaak, implied/referenced abuse, implied/referenced past rape/non-con, attempted rape/non-con, underage (though nothing explicit happens, Chris is only 15, so all of that implied and referenced stuff refers to him at this age).
> 
> Also look out for fluff, feels, and cuddles.

**Viktor**

The first time Viktor Nikiforov sees Christophe Giacometti, Viktor is seventeen years old, and his silver hair reaches far down past his shoulders. It’s April, the air is turning warmer, and Viktor is nothing short of ecstatic after playing with Makkachin in the garden for the first time.

He’s not had Makkachin for very long – only around a month – but he already feels a strong connection to the puppy. It was far too easy to get his father to relent and allow him to adopt the poodle. Dimitri Nikiforov is a far softer touch than the man would ever allow anyone to know.

It’s on this warm day as he’s hurrying back inside to properly hydrate himself and his dog that his father stops him to greet the three men standing in the foyer.

Matvei is far older than Viktor, but definitely younger than his father. He has a soft face, but his smile is tinged with something malicious that makes Viktor want to cross his arms as if to protect himself. Apparently, the man works for them and has just been promoted, so Viktor should get used to seeing him. Isaak looks harsher, has much more muscle on his frame, and a cruel kind of impatience radiating from him. Isaak does _not_ work for Viktor’s father. Viktor misses the reason he’s actually here.

The third man isn’t a man at all, but a boy. Smaller than Viktor in stature and in weight. He’s kind of cute, with his hazel green eyes framed by thick dark lashes, and the curly blond hair atop his head reminding Viktor of a cherub.

At first glance, Viktor assumes this boy is Isaak’s son or something, with the way he stands so close to the man as if afraid the world is going to bite him.

Then he notices the collar. Big and black and obvious, strapped flush around his slim neck, and there’s a silver ringlet attached to the front which is connected to- oh God, Viktor thinks he might be sick.

A leash.

A leash not unlike the one he has for Makkachin.

This boy is a slave. One that looks far too young to be legal. Wearing a t-shirt that clearly belongs to his Master, and not much else. Viktor dearly hopes he’s at least wearing underwear, but it’s hard to tell when the t-shirt comes up just short of midway down his thighs. And Viktor doesn’t want to stare. He can see the bruises. Some old and some new. Can see straight, reddish-purple marks that have been caused by a cane or a whip to his legs, front and back. Can see the unmistakeable chafe of rope around his ankles, one of which looks dangerously swollen.

Yeah. He’s definitely going to throw up.

Isaak growls, yanking the leash so that the boy stumbles away from Viktor. It’s subtle, but Viktor sees him limp on that swollen ankle.

“I apologise if my slave offends you,” he says, glaring at the boy in a way that make the poor thing flinch. “ _Sir_ ,” Isaak adds, almost as an afterthought.

Viktor can feel his father’s eyes on him. Waiting. Hoping he won’t make any mistakes.

He swallows.

“Not at all,” he says in his chilliest voice. “I was just admiring him. Lovely legs.”

“Yeah?” Isaak says, sounding proud all of a sudden. “I like to make sure he stays nice and skinny. They always look better marked up, too. Isn’t that right, slave?”

He tugs the leash again, and the poor boy whimpers but doesn’t respond.

“He doesn’t know much Russian,” Isaak explains. “We got him in Switzerland a few weeks ago. Think he speaks German or something.”

Viktor almost cries with relief when his father invites Isaak to make himself comfortable in one of the sitting rooms. As the man walks off with Matvei, and Isaak takes up the invitation, pulling the boy along with him, Viktor sprints to the nearest bathroom. He manages not to empty his stomach, but the dry retching leaves it cramping uncomfortably.

When he steps out of the bathroom, wiping tears from his eyes, Makkachin is waiting patiently with Yakov at his side. Viktor takes one look at Yakov’s gruff appearance and throws himself into his bodyguard’s arms. Yakov sighs but pats his shoulder in a manner that’s supposed to be soothing.

“Did you _see_ him?” Viktor babbles. “He’s so young, he’s _too_ young, I-”

“Vitya,” Yakov grumbles. “It’s none of your business what another man does with his slaves. You need to learn not to get so upset about these things.”

“If I stopped caring about people like that poor boy, I’d be just as bad as the ones that buy them and hurt them!”

“Your heart is too soft,” Yakov mutters.

“You sound like my father,” Viktor says with a hollow chuckle.

“Your father is right. It won’t get any easier, Vitya. You _must_ grow a thicker skin.” Yakov sighs again. “You dealt with it very well in front of them. Now dry your eyes and wait in your room until they’re gone.”

Viktor nods, taking the tissue offered to him and dabbing his eyes and nose. Yakov isn’t an unkind man in the least. He shares Viktor’s sentiments about slavery. But unlike Viktor, Yakov is excellent at hiding his emotions. Not only that, Viktor knows he’s under strict instructions from his father not to mollycoddle Viktor when he gets upset about these things. It’s all part of some covert operation to desensitise Viktor or at least normalise things for him. They’re trying to do him a favour. He knows that. They’re trying to make it easier for him.

It’ll never work.

Stuffing the tissue into his pocket, he scoops up an excited Makkachin and follows Yakov through the large house. Or he tries. They don’t get very far when Viktor hears the distress wafting through the corridor. Yakov shakes his head, silently telling him to ignore it. He passes his puppy to the man and follows the sound.

“ _P-Please, I_ -”

“Why don’t you be a good little whore and stop struggling?”

French. The too-young slave speaks French. There’s a soft, choked sound, as if the boy is fighting for breath. Viktor walks faster.

He freezes in the doorway to the sitting room.

The boy is far too small in comparison to Isaak. And now, with that t-shirt bunched up around his wrists which are held tight above his head, Viktor can see his ribs and hipbones jutting out under his skin. Bruises too. Red marks and teeth, cruel imitations of love bites. What looks like a tiny burn by his bellybutton.

Isaak tugs the t-shirt off the boy completely and tosses it behind him, apparently not noticing Viktor standing there. The boy, the _slave_ , brings his arms down as if to protect himself, though Isaak seems unconcerned with his torso. Instead, he wrenches the skinny thing’s legs apart, eliciting a whimper from the boy. A whimper which turns to quiet, fearful murmurs as Isaak palms him harshly through his underwear.

Viktor can’t move. He’s stuck, and his voice is stuck too. He can’t let this happen. But he can’t figure out what he’s supposed to do. His legs are numb and there’s a ringing in his ear.

“Relax, _malen’kiy kheruvim_ ,” Isaak whispers half in English, sickening and sweet, and Viktor feels like he might vomit again.

 _Malen’kiy kheruvim_. _Little cherub_.

Isaak suddenly grabs the boy by the hips and flips him. He lands on his stomach before Isaak yanks his hips back into the air.

He has to _do_ something.

Isaak presses one wide palm between the boy’s shoulder blades, holding him down, and the other hand goes to his hair which he pulls on. The boy yelps, tears forming in his eyes. Isaak rolls his hips with a grunt. Reaches between them to remove the underwear. The boy squirms.

“Relax, cherub,” he repeats in Russian this time. “We wouldn’t want you to bleed like you did last night.”

“Isaak.”

It takes him a second to realise he’s the one that spoke. And he’s already taken one step into the room before he’s fully aware that he’s moved.

Oh God, what is he _doing_?

Isaak’s attention snaps up to him and away from the struggling boy beneath him. There’s an irate look in his eye from being interrupted. It only fuels Viktor more. This isn’t going to happen. Not in his house. Not while he’s here.

“I couldn’t help but overhear those lovely sounds your slave was making.” He smiles coldly.

“I…apologise, sir, I’ll gag him if you’d l-”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” Viktor says in a voice that is so painfully not his own, it makes him uncomfortable. “I’d like to borrow him for a while.”

A muscle in Isaak’s jaw twitches. Viktor’s heart is pounding.

“But sir, surely you have a slave or two of your own that you could-”

“Right now, I want _this_ one,” Viktor insists. He sounds like a brat. “Are you really going to deny me this? While your partner is in a business meeting with my father? Surely you can spare him for a short while. I won’t break him, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want to play with him a little. You’ll get him back when I’m done. I’ll even clean him up for you.”

Viktor hears footsteps behind him, and Isaak glances at whoever it is. He looks angry. Like he wants to argue.

“Of course, sir,” he grits out. “I hope you enjoy him.”

Giving Isaak one of his dazzling fake smiles, he moves into the room. Isaak manhandles the boy into a standing position and shoves him towards Viktor unceremoniously. He conveniently forgets to give the poor thing his shirt back, and Viktor can’t think of any excuse to ask for it.

The blond stumbles into him, limping on his swollen ankle still, with dread and understanding clear in his eyes as he blurts out quiet apologies. Viktor sees the leash dangling over his bare, bruised chest. He can’t bring himself to touch it. So instead, he grabs hold of the boy’s tiny wrist, not missing the wince of pain, and pulls him from the room. Yakov is waiting in the doorway, glaring at Isaak. He gives Viktor a meaningful look before putting Makkachin down and heading off.

As he pulls the trembling boy towards his room, he realises he doesn’t quite know what to do with him, or even what to say. Maybe he can find some way to keep him relaxed until he has to leave.

They pass a maid on the way, and Viktor asks her if she could send up some sandwiches, before they step into his room. He releases the boy’s wrist. The boy shuffles away just a little before coming to a stop, eyes fixed on the floor and hands clasped in front of him. Like he’s waiting for instruction.

Viktor clears his throat.

“What’s your name?” he asks gently, in smooth French.

He sees surprise flash through the boy’s eyes before he answers.

“Ch-Christophe. Chris.”

“What a nice name!” Viktor comments, trying to appear bubbly and friendly. “My name is Viktor. You can call me Vitya, if you’d like. That’s what my friends and family call me. And this is Makkachin!”

He scoops up the puppy to let Chris meet him, but Chris doesn’t respond at all to Makkachin’s fierce licking. Biting his lip, Viktor puts Makkachin back down.

“How…old are you?” Viktor asks, dreading the answer.

“I’m fift-teen.”

Oh. Older than he looks, but still far too young. No one will ever be old enough for this kind of thing.

“Chris, why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” he suggests, thinking that Chris really needs some more clothes to feel more comfortable. “Have a seat on the bed while I get something from the bathroom, then we can do something together!”

He doesn’t expect Chris’ eyes to squeeze shut, lower lip trembling as if he’s trying desperately not to cry out. Viktor opens his mouth to ask about it, but then Chris starts making his way to the bed, and Viktor figures he’s just surprised by the volume of his voice.

He makes sure to keep his movements slow as he moves into the en suite to search for his fluffy bathrobe. He breathes deeply as he goes. Nervousness creeps in his veins though he has nothing to be nervous about. All he has to do is offer a distraction to this poor child until he has to leave. And Viktor is good at distracting people. He’s good at talking about nothing. He can do this. He just has to be gentle about it.

Finding the bathrobe hanging on the towel rack, he grabs it and heads back into the bedroom, hoping that Chris has managed to settle somewhat in the comfort of Viktor’s plush duvet.

“Chris, are you cold? I have a- Oh.”

Chris _is_ on the bed. Naked. His underwear cast aside, chest pushed down against the sheets, ass raised high in the air. Viktor suddenly understands why he squeezed his eyes shut. He thought…he thinks…

He can’t help it. He bursts into tears, and it startles the boy on the bed, so much so that he sits up into a kneeling position and stares over at Viktor in alarm.

“I- S-Sir…”

Viktor shakes his head, and has to cover his mouth with his hand as he turns away and tries not to sob loudly enough to alert someone in the house. Makkachin sits at his feet, looking up curiously.

“I-I’m sorry if I’ve d-done something wrong,” Chris stammers. It sounds like he’s edging closer. Hesitantly. “P-Please don’t tell my M-Master. I’ll…I can be good. If you t-tell me what to do.” Soft, trembling hands touch his back, as if to massage and relax him. “Have you…never done this before? I…am a little sore. From M-Master’s- B-But I can show you-”

“God, no, _stop_.”

He doesn’t know if it’s him wrenching himself away or if Chris is the one who jumps back. They break apart, and when Viktor turns and stares through his tears, Chris is still naked as the day he was born. His skinny arms are wrapped around his bony torso, knees together, slightly hunched. As if to protect his modesty. What little of it he has left.

And now, startlingly, Chris has tears sparkling in his deep green eyes.

“Please, just t-tell me what you want me to do!” Chris gasps. “I c-can’t make him angry!”

In his fear, the boy drops to his knees on the floor, face buried in his hands. Viktor realises he’s being selfish. This isn’t about him right now.

Wiping his tears with his sleeve, Viktor kneels down and drapes the robe around Chris’ marked shoulders. The boy flinches. Viktor closes the robe over his chest, rubbing gently at his bruised arms before giving in and pulling Chris into a close hug.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he mutters, practically cradling the frozen boy like a mother would a child. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. Don’t be afraid. You’re safe in here, all right? I’m not going to hurt you. And I’m not going to tell Isaak anything. I just- I couldn’t let him _do that_ to you. Not in my house. I’m so sorry this has happened to you.”

“B-But you told me to get on the bed,” Chris stutters, his voice slightly muffled against Viktor’s chest. “You s-said we’d _d-do_ something. Together.”

Viktor pushes back another wave of tears.

“I- I did,” Viktor nods, pulling back to look down at Chris. “But that’s not what I meant. I just wanted you to be comfortable. I thought we could play videogames or something. Until you have to leave.”

There’s a pause.

“R…Really? Videogames?”

A nod and a sincere smile is all it takes for Chris to throw his arms around Viktor’s torso and hug him far too tightly. The boy doesn’t let him go either. Not even when the maid knocks and enters with a plate of snacks and glasses of juice for them. She sends Chris a sympathetic look, bows slightly to Viktor, then leaves.

When Chris _does_ let go, he seems a lot more embarrassed by his nudity. Viktor politely sets about turning on his television and booting up his Xbox while Chris slips his arms into the robe and ties the sash. From the corner of his eye, Viktor sees him hurriedly put his underwear back on too. He feeds Makkachin a small bite of one of the plain cookies while Chris settles on the bed. The boy still looks unsure when Viktor turns around, but he does offer up a sweet smile as he timidly accepts an egg sandwich.

“Do you like Sonic?” Viktor asks as he roots through his game collection.

“I love Sonic!” Chris says through a mouthful of food. “None of my friends could ever beat my high scores!”

The pair of them sit and eat, and play the game while Makkachin fusses between them, vying for attention or a crust of bread. Chris is quiet and reserved, but Viktor sees the sparkle in his eye when he wins a race, and when Makkachin clambers into his lap and tries to lick his face, and when he bites into one of the chocolate chip cookies.

“I used to have a cat,” Chris says softly, petting Makkachin’s curly head. “Back home. Her name was Robinette. Robi for short.”

“Makkachin’s my first pet.” He’s trying to be conversational. He hopes it’s working. “I’d love more though. So, where are you from?”

Isaak said earlier, but Viktor would rather hear it from Chris himself.

“Switzerland,” Chris mutters through a bite of cookie. “Very near to Geneva. I’m a- I mean, I used to be a dancer. That’s…how I was caught. There had been a competition in the city. I saw the slaver in the audience. I didn’t know what she was at the time. When she approached me afterwards, she congratulated me on third place and said she was a talent scout. I believed her. Silly, right?”

“No, Chris,” Viktor says, pausing the game to turn and stare at the boy who only seems vaguely upset about his own story. “You could never have known. That kind of thing almost never happens in Switzerland. I mean, it’s illegal.”

“I still should have known better than to leave the group and go off with a stranger,” Chris says with a shake of his head. “Three days later, I was in Zurich and my…Masters were ready to take me home with them. I…I don’t understand anything they say. M-Master Isaak gives me orders, but I can’t understand them. So he punishes me. He…always punishes me.”

A dark veil seems to fall over the younger boy’s eyes.

“Chris…”

“Master Matvei, though, he’s not so bad,” Chris says before Viktor even has the chance to say anything else. “He doesn’t…touch me very often. When he does, when it’s just me and him, he doesn’t hurt me. Sometimes h-he makes it nice for me. He gives me painkillers when I’m sore – at least, I think they’re painkillers – and if Master Isaak isn’t there, he lets me eat pizza and sit outside with him. If I… If I had to choose one, I’d pick him.”

Viktor nods in understanding, though he doesn’t understand at all. He supposes that, given the choice, he’d pick the gentler option too. But it’s still so startling to hear Chris talk about it like _this_ instead of declaring his hate for them or wishing to go home. Startling to hear Chris sound like he’s _grateful_ for the kindness and pleasure Matvei offers him instead of disgusted that the man touches him at all. Chris is just a child. By the time he’s sixteen, it may be considered legal here in Russia, but the fact of the matter is he’s a minor. And that makes it all the more disgusting.

“Um…how come you speak French?” Chris asks timidly.

“My mother,” Viktor explains. “She was French. She moved here just to be with my father.”

Chris nods.

“What happened to her?”

“She had cancer,” Viktor explains, swallowing a lump in his throat. “She passed when I was fourteen.”

“Oh…I’m sorry,” Chris whispers, like he’s not sure what else to say. “Was she a good mother?”

“The best,” Viktor replies. “She used to argue with my father all the time to try to get me into figure skating. She always lost, but sometimes she’d get Yakov and the three of us would sneak out to the rink.”

“Is your father not very nice?”

“Oh, no, he’s fine. He loves me a lot. He loved my mother a lot too,” Viktor reassures Chris, who seems to be getting distressed by the thought of Dimitri Nikiforov not being a kind man. “He’s just realistic, I think. He never wanted to give me something I couldn’t have only to be forced to take it away later. I’ll be taking over the company one day. I can’t do that _and_ be a figure skater.”

Chris doesn’t push the subject much more.

They play videogames and eat snacks for only a short while longer. Chris is carefree and bright, giggling and squealing when Makkachin does literally anything, coming out of his shell enough to touch Viktor the way one grabs a friend when they’re laughing so hard they can’t stand up. He compliment’s Viktor’s long hair, twists it into a French braid for him, even teaches him a couple of basic ballet positions and stretches he used to do during dance practise.

Viktor tells Chris his dreams of being the best of the best in some elegant art like ballet or figure skating while lamenting the fact that he’ll never be able to. Chris tells him ballet isn’t all that great anyway, because his own ballet mistress was a total bitch with a face like a praying mantis. Viktor smirks and says that reminds him of his bodyguard’s ex-wife, Lilia, prima ballerina and strict mistress turned personal tutor for Viktor (though not a tutor of ballet, sadly). They share a secret laugh over that.

When Yakov knocks on the door and Chris has to leave, Viktor unwillingly returns him to Isaak with a look of cold indifference on his face and an assurance that Chris performed exceptionally well. Isaak’s eye twitches at that, but he says he’s glad before he, Chris, and Matvei leave.

The whole experience leaves Viktor mentally exhausted. His father squeezes his shoulder in a gesture of comfort before disappearing back into his office.

Viktor wishes there was something he could do to help Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very bittersweet indeed, but I've been feeling angsty in my life lately, so I wanted to express that by sharing this part of the story with you guys. If you've read my summary of Chris' story on Tumblr, you'll know how Chris eventually comes to live with Viktor! However, I might explore their story a little more here too. We'll see :P I just write for these extras when I feel like it.
> 
> Please do leave a comment!


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